


Who's To Say What Is and What Isn't?

by kinfic2



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 17:13:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2515457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinfic2/pseuds/kinfic2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He imagines that when I see how well he carries, I'll be tempted to keep him on." S.Beckett<br/>Ambiguities abound<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Who's To Say What Is and What Isn't?

_“You can fight without ever winning,_ _But never, ever win without a fight.”_ _©Peart,Lee,Lifeson_

  
“Come over here,” Brian purred. His voice oozed liquid silk, caressing every nerve ending of Justin’s body.  
  
“Let me go wash up and I’ll be right back, okay?” Justin was an astute observer of life, of things and most importantly, of people. That’s why he couldn’t help but notice the hazel eyes narrow and darken. It’s also the reason he saw the shadow disappear, replaced by the recognizable devilish twinkle, the one that made his stomach flutter and his heart beat quicken. The hairs on his neck stood on end at the tone. That particular inflection, the one he was intimately familiar with, the one _never_ to be ignored, alerted him to tread very carefully in the next few moments.  
  
 **You deserve better. You deserve more.**  
 ** _Do I?_  
** **Of course! You're a human being, aren't you?**  
  
He frantically wracked his brain, searching for anything that might have triggered Brian’s current state. He plodded to the bathroom, each step shackled with trepidation. His worries about the sketches he had to give Michael for RAGE, his latest unfinished submission into the Pittsburgh Arts Fair, Molly’s birthday present, and the application for the International Arts Council Competition vanished. Only one thought and one person apprehensively occupied his mind now.  
  
 **Don't think about this.**  
 ** _I have to._** ****  
 **Why?**  
 _ **There's nothing else.**_  
  
In his more lucid moments, the rare occasions not involving thoughts of Brian’s cock, Brian’s mouth, Brian’s tongue, or any other body part or sexual activity, he pondered on their relationship. He shivered at even thinking the word, having been taken to task and chastised in the past for the verbal blunder. Brian Kinney didn’t _do_ relationships. They didn’t _have_ a relationship. What they had, according to his royal highness, Sir Brian, was an “arrangement,” one predicated not only by an open door policy, but a revolving one as well, much to his chagrin and dismay.  
  
 **You are important.  
 _Am I? To whom?_**  
 **To yourself.** ****  
 _ **Not good enough.**_  
  
Justin knew everyone’s opinion about their situation. It didn’t escape him when Debbie glanced his way at the diner with a slight shake of her head. He never failed to see Lindsay’s grim expressions in response to Mel’s finger pointing. It wasn’t difficult to recognize the sympathetic looks Ted and Emmett threw his way. He didn’t even have a hard time identifying Michael and Ben’s attempts at interfering, or if he were honest, perhaps _intervening_ would be a more accurate description of their concern.  
  
 **You shouldn't let him treat you like this.**  
 ** _You mean he shouldn't treat me like this. There's a difference._  
** **Is there?**  
  
He often daydreamed about what would happen if he just said _fuck it_ and left, either in a blaze of verbal glory, retaliating for all the years he stayed, for all the times he didn’t go, or by a sudden and mysterious departure in the middle of the night, never to be seen or heard from again.  
  
 **Why do you stay?** **  
****_Where would I go?_**  
 **Anywhere. _  
__Anywhere?_**  
 **Wherever you wanted. You'd be free. _  
__Free?_**  
 **Yes, free. You could choose.**  
 ** _Choose?_**  
 **Yes, choose.**  
  
“You’re taking an awfully long time, Sunshine,” Brian called from the bedroom. “You know I don’t like to be away from that ass of yours. My dick starts twitching in withdrawal.”  
  
Justin heard the rumble of Brian’s amusement at his own joke. He had just finished brushing his teeth when the distinctive tear of the condom wrapper ripped through him like a knife.  
  
“Get your bubble butt out here NOW!”  
  
A quick glance in the mirror at the stranger staring back and a profound sigh from the depths of oblivion were the only preparations Justin allowed himself before approaching the bed, his cock already erect and firm.  
  
“Look at me, Justin,” Brian commanded. The hushed voice thundered through the loft loud as a shout.  
  
Their eyes dueled in a silent battle for control, each man propelled by his own intense emotions, by his own demons, until finally, like every time before, Justin whispered, “Yes, Brian?”  
  
In the seconds before the whiteness of ecstasy claimed his body, the blackness of agony claimed his mind, and Justin asked the question that burned his soul, __"__ **** _Choose what?_ ”

****  
****_“Well in case you failed to notice, in case you failed to see, this is my heart bleeding before you._  
 _This is me down on my knees. These foolish games are tearing me apart.”_ ©Jewel  **  
**

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on my LJ in 2008. Reading critical essays of "Waiting for Godot" jump-started my warped brain to the various nuances of the B/J relationship. For some reason, that leapfrogged to possible D/S or to the possiblility of mental illness, that Justin's inner dialogue was from his disturbed and delusional mind and Brian wasn't a bad guy after all. When I finished writing, though, I felt the fic could also be read without any deep meaning, that it was nothing more than a window into their everyday relationship. *g* So depending on the reader, it can be interpreted in various ways.


End file.
